Come Closer, Miss Ingram
by celestial1
Summary: Because Blanche Ingram deserved a second look. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

So, back when I was in college I took an elective course which was based entirely on the book Jane Eyre. I was a science major, and the class was a pleasant diversion from balancing redox reactions, molecular geometries, and the Krebs cycle. In short, I _loved_ it. The instructor was one of those gauzy, Birks-in-winter hippie types, and for our final project we had to 'create' something based on the book Jane Eyre. I've always secretly loved to write, so this was right up my alley.

I'd never heard of fan fiction at that point, but during the semester we'd read _Wide Sargasso Sea_ which told the story through another viewpoint (Bertha Mason's), and I found the concept fascinating. It was interesting to see Edward Rochester portrayed in an even less sympatyhetic vein than Jane saw him - I mean, she loved him, but even _she_ had to realize that he was kind of a jerk. I don't recall what made me settle on Blanche Ingram, because she was such a throwaway character, but I came to see that Mr Rochester manipulated her the way he manipulated a lot of people.

And yes, I got an 'A.'

The story works out to be, I think, 4 or 5 chapters. It is complete and will be posted as I finish scanning, formatting, and editing everything. (Thank goodness for OCR software, since I've lost the disk. Although it was 1998 when I wrote this so the disk wouldn't do me much good anyway, would it? At least it wasn't a floppy.) Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Come Closer, Miss Ingram

We had been in the cottage in -shire for three years when we heard from Mr Rochester again. He was really only a slight acquaintance of ours - his father and mine had been great friends, but both the old men were dead and gone. The dreary grey winter had just begun to melt into dreary grey spring when we received a note from him, informing that he should like us to come to Thornfield for a visit, two or three days hence.

I had not seen Edward Rochester since I was eighteen; our situation had changed somewhat since then. For one, Father had died; for another, Theodore had turned us out of Stonebanks. He hadn't said so, of course; he had said that he supposed we would like a neat little cottage better than tumbledown Stonebanks, and Father's bequest to Mother should be enough for the three of us to live on quite comfortably. He had engaged a cottage for us, some distance away, and we, being ladies, had no choice but to go.

For the last three years Mother had been dressing us up in fine but mended and made-over gowns, and showing us in balls and parties and teas, and trying desperately to maintain the illusion that all was as it had once been. What no one seems to realize is that having a title, and lands, and a crumbling old house, does not assure one's financial security. We had been obliged to sell a large portion of our lands when Father died; by now there was almost nothing left for me, and even less for Mary.

At the mention of Edward Rochester Mother fell into frenzy of excitement: he was the most important visit we had paid in many months. Important to Mother meant unmarried, wealthy, and male, as we knew Mr Rochester to be. Our shabby clothing was mended, our shabby gloves and slippers darned one more time. It was vitally important to make a good impression on Mr Rochester, as Mother did not tell us but we instinctively knew.

* * *

It was a two days' journey from -shire to the Leas, where we would be meeting with Mr Rochester and the other members his party. On the morning of the second day, as our carriage sped across the misty country, we passed Stonebanks. My heart leaped as I beheld my former home - rising like a gracious old lady above the morning dew - and in a few moments it had passed out of sight. Mother was asleep, but Mary had seen it. She squeezed my hand and smiled sympathetically. 

We had loved Stonebanks - oh, how we had loved it. To our infant eyes its crumbling walls were a marble palace. I had learned to ride in those very fields, with Father, when I was ten years old. All my happy memories, in fact, were there - and now it seemed as if they were lost forever. For a moment I felt as if I could rebel, leap from this coach which rolled steadily towards my fate, and run back to Stonebanks. But Mother stirred, and looked over at me, and I put Stonebanks out of my mind.

In the evening we reached the Leas; by then I had quite forgotten the horrible pang I had felt upon passing Stonebanks. The Leas was as fine a home as I had once hoped to inhabit. Mr Eshton, though he had no title, apparently had more money than poor Father, I thought as entered the cosy drawing-room and looked around the little party assembled there.

Mr and Mrs Eshton were a very handsome couple, though they were quite middle-aged, and their three daughters were exceedingly pretty. Amy was little and fair; Louisa was taller, and her golden hair darker; Elizabeth, the youngest, was perhaps fourteen or fifteen, but if all indications were correct she would someday outshine the others.

Lady Lynn, with whom Mother had been friends before both were married, was there with her two sons. She, like Mother, had been widowed, but with a much greater estate, as I immediately noticed. Her two sons, Henry and Frederick, I had not seen in years; they had grown up in the intervening time. The final members of our party were a Colonel and Mrs Dent. I knew them only slightly, and during the course of events which followed our acquaintance did not increase.

We had scarcely been introduced when Mrs Eshton said slyly, ''There is one more - perhaps you've met him?" and procured from behind a closed door our brother Theodore. I had not seen Tedo in over a year; I was astonished at the change in him. He was only twenty-seven then, but he was getting fat, he who had been so lean and well-formed, and his once keen eyes were becoming dull and bleary. We later learned that he had been engaged in excessive drinking, and gambling away what little remained of Father's money; he was already on a decline that would lead to his death two years later.

But this had not transpired yet; and though he had turned us out, we were very glad to see him. Mother fell upon him with her usual maternal scolding: was he eating well, was he keeping warm, but in a much gentler tone than she used with Mary and me. When Tedo had recovered, he turned to Mary and embraced her warmly. She had always been his especial pet, being seven years his junior.

Mr Rochester was not among those present, but he arrived suddenly after supper that night: he simply walked in unannounced. It was raining when he arrived; my first impression of him after a long time was of a rain-soaked cloak, and great puddles of water dripping onto the Eshtons' expensive carpet. Then there was a hearty round of welcomes and introductions, and while Mr Rochester was mobbed by Eshtons and Lynns it was several minutes before I was finally able to get a good look at his face.

I stood across the room, for I barely knew him, and looked him over critically. I had not seen him in seven years, and he, too, had changed somewhat in the interval. His eyes were a little harder, the set of his jaw a little more resolute, the lines of his face a little grimmer. Edward Rochester had never been handsome, but he was even less so now.

Mr Rochester caught me looking at him, and I quickly turned away, blushing. I would not be so forward as to stare at a man. But I found that his steady, even piercing gaze remained on me for a few minutes more. What kind of a man is this Mr Rochester? I wondered.


	2. Chapter 2

All right, here is part two. It's been interesting to re-read this, since it's been so long. One thing I hadn't predicted is that one of the character names in this story became _my_ name when I got married. Also, the date that I turned this in would eventually become my son's birthday, seven years later. Funny concidence!

* * *

Mary and I had just been shown to our chambers, and were opening our ancient leatherbound trunk the size of a small boat, when Mother came in, and looked at us critically. Already I suspected what thoughts were being produced in her head. ''Well, my girls," she said, ''do you find Mr Rochester handsome?" 

Mary looked down at the embroidered scarf in her hands, so I felt obligated to speak. "No,'' I said, "I do not."

Mother opened her mouth, and closed it again.

''If you are honest you do not either," I said. "He looks as if he may have been handsome once, when he was younger, but probably was not, and he certainly is not now."

"It does not matter," Mother said quickly, "if a man is handsome or not, as long as he is a good hus – person."

''You meant to say husband, didn't you," I said calmly.

"Mr Rochester has been a bachelor long enough,'' Mother declared, in the tone of voice she used when determining other people's fates. "I see no reason why one of my daughters should not be made his wife."

Mother left after several minutes and Mary lifted her stricken face to me. "Blanche,'' she said passionately, "I can never marry Edward Rochester."

"I know, dearest," I said. Mary had fallen in love on the sly with the second son of a neighboring estate. "Anyway, you're much too young. He must be twice your age."

"But Mother will be so angry -" Mary said. She was near tears. "You know how she is so set in her ways -"

"I know," I said, kissing her pale cheek. "If either of us is to go to the altar, it will be me."

''Thank you," Mary whispered, for Mother was coming back in.

"Naturally, I don't need to remind you of the importance of maintaining the proper appearance before Mr Rochester," Mother said. "Our financial situation must be carefully concealed -"

Or he will know what we are about, I thought but did not say.

"And you must never or ask too many questions, or appear too bold, or speak out of turn," she continued. ''Remember, we are ladies." Mother continued in her tirade, but we had heard it all a dozen times before; Mary and I exchanged amused glances, and continued unpacking. Mother reminded me of Cinderella's wicked stepmother, plying her two daughters on an unwilling Prince.

By the time Mother finally left us again, ten minutes later, I had become wholly resigned to my fate. I was not overly fond of Mr Rochester, but he would do. I had long ago put away my own maiden hopes and illusions regarding matrimony, and replaced them with Mother's lofty ideals: my husband must be rich. Mother had determined that one of her daughters should become Mrs Rochester, thus securing, no doubt, her own comfort; and condemn my dear Mary to such a fate, I would not.

* * *

We remained at the Leas for two weeks. It was a very gay time, occupied by much lively talk, and livelier music; when it was fine we were permitted to go riding. The riding-party generally consisted of Theodore, Henry and Frederick Lynn, Mr Rochester, and myself. Every morning when I rode out I would see Mother glaring at me from the window by the breakfast-table. Mother heartily disapproved of ladies who rode, and always had; yet she would not forbid it, since it was an opportunity to be near Mr Rochester. And near him I was - nearer than anyone else, at least, for the moment we were out of sight of the house, Mr Rochester would break away from our party and gallop away at a great speed. We never knew where he went, but he always rejoined us just as we reached the stables. 

After two weeks Mr Rochester announced quite suddenly that we would leave for Thornfield the next day. I was very much gratified, for that would make my work easier; certainly Mr Rochester would be absent less often if he was playing host.

That night Mother came into my chamber. I was nearly asleep, when she came in, quite without warning; in her night shift and wrapper and with her hair streaming down, she did not look like herself. For half a second I thought she was an intruder, and stifled the urge to scream.

''It's only you," I said with relief, as her candle cast gruesome shadows on her face. "I thought you would be asleep.''

"Tomorrow we go to Thornfield,'' Mother said, as if I hadn't known.

"Yes,'' I said, "and I should like to sleep before then."

''Thornfield is a very fine home," Mother continued. "A house like that without a mistress is a shame."

I groaned and rolled over in my bed.

''Such a mistress must be capable of so awesome a responsibility," Mother said, sitting on the edge of my bed. I remembered when I was small, she would sit on the edge of my bed and stroke my hair and sing to me. I searched her face now for any of the signs of affection I had once seen, and saw none.

"I trust I have raised you right," she said. ''You will not fail."

"I will not fail," I repeated. I was trying out the words, but Mother took it for a vow, and I let her believe so.

''You will not fail," she said again, and I disliked what I saw in her eyes. Hard, glittering like a rat's - I saw my mother as proud and selfish; as a woman who would sell her own daughters into slavery to secure her own comfort. For the first time I saw that my mother was growing old, and her beauty was almost gone. She was a stately womanly but at that moment I despised her.

''Good-night, daughter," she said.

"Good-night, mother," I said as she left, and tried to go to sleep. But her interview had quite spoiled the night for me, and I lay awake for many hours more.


	3. Chapter 3

Short chapter here, because the next one is looong! The dialogue is pretty much lifted straight from the book although I tried to fill in what Blanche was most likely thinking.

* * *

One evening, Mr Rochester was out, none of us knew where. We had just welcomed a new arrival, a Mr Mason late of the West Indies, when the presence was announced of an old woman who wanted to tell our fortunes. I was very much interested, for I was quite curious to discover how my quest would end. I was growing impatient, as Mr Rochester had not yet spoken; surely this old soothsayer could tell me whether I would meet with success or failure. 

"I cannot possibly countenance any such inconsistent proceeding,'' Mother said, in her usual haughty language.

"Indeed, mama, but you can - and will," I said, knowing that Mother would not forbid me in front of all these people. "I have a curiosity to hear my fortune told: therefore, Sam, order the beldame forwards.''

"My darling Blanche! recollect -" I reflected irrelevantly, and with some bitterness, that Mother only called me by affectionate nicknames for the benefit of others; in private I was anything but 'her darling Blanche' .

"I do - I recollect all you can suggest; and I must have my will - quick, Sam!" The other young people agreed; Sam went to consult with the old lady, and soon returned.

"She won't come now," he said. "She says it's not her mission to appear before the 'vulgar herd' (them's her words). I must show her into a room by herself, and then those who wish to consult her must go to her one by one." The plan was agreeable to me; I was not convinced that I would want my fortune told before such a nosy crowd - by this I mean Mother, of course.

"You see now, my queenly Blanche,- Mother protested with another of her hypocritical expressions of affection, "she encroaches. Be advised, my angel girl - and -"

"Show her into the library, of course," I interrupted. I could not stand to listen to Mother's false affection any longer; I wanted simply to do my business, and have it over with. "It is not my mission to listen to her before the vulgar herd either: I mean to have her all to myself. Is there a fire in the library?"

"Yes ma'am - but she looks such a tinkler," persisted the stupid Sam.

"Cease that chatter, blockhead! and do my bidding," I said; I meant it for a joke but Sam quickly vanished. He came back, and called for the first visitor. Colonel Dent offered to go first, but Sam said that the old woman would see only young, unmarried ladies; I said simply "I go first'' and no one argued.

''Oh, my best! Oh, my dearest! pause - reflect!" Mother implored, but I ignored her whining; I meant to have my own way this once. I ventured into the library alone


	4. Chapter 4

This section, I think, is kind of the meat of my story. We never find out what the fortune-teller says to Blanche although she's clearly pretty peeved about it. And later Mr Rochester mentions how he caused a rumor to reach Blanche's ears of how he's not as rich as he lets on. I can only assume that this is how he did it.

* * *

The old woman was seated in the corner by the chimney; I tried look at her closely but was prevented by the large black hat that obscured her face. She did not look, but spoke: "Come closer, Miss Ingram."

I shuddered. How did this hag know my name? She was, it appeared, a very good fortune-teller indeed. I approached.

"Kneel," she ordered, and I instantly complied. She looked me over for several minutes, until my knees were beginning to ache. ''You are attractive enough,'' she said at last. Why are you not married?"

"I have no fortune,'' I said, rather annoyed with her for instantly mentioning the very thing that had been frustrating me for the last several years. "I have nothing to offer a husband - nothing but myself."

"That is a very poor sacrificer," she said reflectively.

"I do not think so," I said angrily.

It seemed to me that she was laughing. Above all else I despise being laughed at. "Never mind," I said quickly, "I may soon have a chance to marry, anyway."

The old hag stopped her chuckling, and straightened up with a look of interest. "To whom?" she inquired.

"You tell me," I said, not caring that I was being impudent, "you are supposed to be the fortune-teller, not me."

"Indeed,'' she mused. "Is he a young man?"

"Not at all," I said, "he is considerably older than me."

"Is he handsome?" the old lady persisted.

''Hardly,'' I scoffed, "but that is fine with me: alongside him I will look much better by contrast.''

"A very fine plan, indeed,'' the prophetesses agreed, although it seemed to me that she scorned me. "Is he wealthy?''

"Ah - now you have hit upon the main question," I said, wondering if she was not a true prophetess indeed. "He is wealthy; in fact, that is his most attractive quality."

"And you -" she was peering at me. "You would marry for money, rather than, say, for love?"

"It is not my decision to make," I said, and felt that it was safe to bear confidence to her, since she appeared, after all, so credible. "If it were, I would marry for love, even if it should mean I am doomed to a life of maidenhood. But it is my duty to marry a wealthy man."

"It is your duty?" she said, sounding genuinely surprised. ''Who says so?"

"Why, my mother, of course," I said, as if there was any question in the matter. ''She has never: said so expressly, of course, but - she has a way of making her will known.''

"And why is that?" she persisted.

"I told your," I said. "I have no fortune. We are quite poor - we have no estate, and very little money. If I marry well, Mother won't ever be reduced to taking in laundry - that is her greatest fear, for her pride. And if I marry a wealthy man, perhaps my sister Mary gill be free to marry whomever she wants."

"Very well," she said quickly, as if she meant to dismiss what seemed to me perfectly valid reasons for marriage. "Who is this man whom you wish to marry?"

"You tell me!" I burst out. ''You seem to be a very poor fortune-teller; you have done nothing but ask me questions since I came in."

"You are right," the old lady conceded. "I will discern for myself." She stared into the fire for some minutes more; I began to suspect she had fallen asleep when she again spoke.

''Edward Rochester!" she said so suddenly that I was quite surprised. I did not respond - I was not sure what I was expected to say. "Is he the one?" she prompted.

"He is, indeed," I said, with some relief. "Te11 me - will my quest be successful?"

She ignored my question. ''Edward Rochester," she said again, pensively this time. "I know a good deal about Edward Rochester."

"What can you tell me about Edward Rochester?" I inquired, having been quite diverted for the moment from my own fate.

"Failure!" she screeched, her eyes wild. They were great dark eyes; I found them somewhat frightening. ''Abject humiliation! Disappointment and despair!"

"For him, or for me?" I said, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

"Mr Rochester is very wealthy, is he not?" she said. She appeared to be possessed by some outside spirit; I was half frightened of her now.

"He is, indeed," I said, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"You only THINK he is!" she nearly shrieked. "Mr Rochester is a base deceiver - a very good one, as you know, but a deceiver none the less!"

"How so?" I wondered.

"He is not wealthy at all!" she crowed triumphantly. "He is quite practiced in the art of maintaining the illusion is wealth -"

As are we, I thought, but did not say; I was too much interested in what she had to tell me.

"And it is only through the kindness of friends that he has been kept from the poorhouse," she concluded, with, I think, far more pleasure than one ought to exhibit in detailing another's misfortunes.

"Mr Rochester – poor," I said. It was almost too much to take in all at once. "Mr Rochester – poor."

"You seem very disappointed," she said with a grin.

"I am, naturally, concerned for the misfortunes of my friends," I said icily.

"This changes everything,'' she persisted.

"It does , indeed," I said.

"You will have no desire to marry a poor man," she prompted.

"What do you care whom I desire to marry?" I burst out. "For heaven's sakes, woman, what of my fortune? So far you have told me nothing of myself - only of the abominable Mr Rochester."

"Oh, your fortune," she said hurriedly, "let me see. H'm. You will find another - men with fortune and no good looks are easy enough to find in these parts - and in due time you will marry, et cetera."

"And will I be happy?" I said slyly.

''Happy?'' she echoed distractedly. "Mr Rochester will be happy; I do not know about you.''

''Thank you," I said coldly. "I had better go now. You have told me enough, I think."

"Good-bye, fair one," she chuckled. "You do not believe me now, but you will by-and-by."

"Oh, I believe you," I said. ''Good-bye.'' With that I stalked from the library and flung open the door. I stared contemptuously at all of them staring, slack-jawed and wide- eyed. Still, I held no particular dislike for any of them, except Mother perhaps.


	5. Chapter 5

The thrilling conclusion! As I was reading this, I realized that the ending seems a bit bleak. Bear in mind that when I wrote this I was eighteen and had just experienced **the** heartbreak of my life. Now obviously time heals all wounds and I found the love of my life not too terribly much longer, so I no longer possess such a depressing worldview. I thought of changing the ending but I decided to let it stand. It is, I think, true to the way we last see Blanche in the book - she never does get a happy ending.

* * *

"Well, Blanche?'' said Tedo.

"What did she say, sister?" Mary asked eagerly.

''What did you think? How do you feel? Is she a real fortune-teller?'' the Eshton girls persisted.

''Now, now, good people," I said wearily, "don't press upon me. Really, your organs of wonder and credulity are easily excited: you seem by the importance you all - my good mama included - ascribe to this matter - absolutely to believe we have a genuine witch in the house, who is in close alliance with the old gentleman. I have seen a gipsy vagabond; she has practised in hackneyed fashion the science of palmistry, and told me what such people usually tell. My whim is gratified; and now I think Mr Hilton will do well to put the hag in the stocks to-morrow morning, as threatened.''

I promptly took a book, sat down, and pretended to read, though to this day I cannot tell you what the book was about. I only wanted an excuse to ignore all further attempts at conversation, to give me time to think about what I would tell mother. She would want to know all, and I did not doubt that I would tell her.

* * *

The interview I had dreaded did not come until the next morning; Mother came in while I was dressing. "Well, daughter," she said without so much as a greeting, "what be the news? Is it favorable?"

"It is to me , '' I said, ''but perhaps not to you.''

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

I turned around and faced her. "Mr Edward Rochester is a sham," I said, relishing the words and the effect they had on my good mother's face. "He is more – he is a base deceiver. He has no fortune at all, and I do not believe he means to marry me."

Mother was growing purple and short of breath. Usually this was my sign to flood her with apologies and beg her for forgiveness, but this time I saw through her pretensions and self-pity. At the moment I cared nothing for her feelings – when had she ever cared for mine? "Mr Rochester is no more wealthy than we are," I continued coldly, "so therefore I wold presume you do not want me to marry him."

Mother drew herself up very proudly. "You have promised me that you wold not fail," she said. "I am disappointed in you."

"Mother," I said with exasperation, "how have I failed? Am I responsible for the state of Mr Rochester's finances?" But she was quite deaf to my reasoning, as always.

"I am ashamed to call you my daughter," she said.

I looked her squarely in the eyes. Never had I been so overcome with revulsion, with dislike, even with hatred for my own mother. I saw the exact same emotions staring out of her eyes at me. "I am ashamed to call you my mother," I said, and walked out of the room.

As I stalked down the hall, I knew what I had to do. It was early yet; the morning dew was still on the grass, and no one else was awake yet. I went down to the stables, and saddled the best horse – not Mr Rochester's fearful Mesrour, but a beautiful and well-behaved one. I rode out and did not look back at Thornfield as I rode away.

All that morning I rode at a furious pace, not even paying attention to where I was going , but knowing the way by instinct. I reached Stonebanks just as the sun was reaching its height in the sky, tied my horse, and flung open the great front doors.

Yet as I stood panting in Stonebanks' musty great hall, I realized that I could never leave my humiliation behind me. Mr Rochester had won – Mother had won – I had lost. All at once the walls which I had loved seemed to be closing in on me, and I knew that I would never be truly happy.


End file.
